After making a cup of tea and a bowl of oats this morning I found the little patch of sunlight making its way through the canopy and sat down to listen. Not only did I hear the breeze through the firs and the oaks, the sparrows and the rooster letting us all know that the morning had arrived (since 4:25 in the morning), but whispers of words I finally began to understand:
"I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams-like the lives of men who stop deceiving themselves."
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